Shattering
by Pocketbook
Summary: There was a moment—an instant occurring upon the precipice of a second, impressing only the most nebulous sense of alarm—where Yukihira Sōma felt something shift inside his chest...and Erina couldn't push him away now. Everything in her—her body, her mind—was reeling from a sudden invasion of sentiment magnified by her inability deny the secrets once hidden behind her heart...
1. Chapter 1

__Note: Parts of this chapter have been revised in order to foreshadow and connect with the rest of the story.__

* * *

 **Shattering:**

 **Chapter 1**

* * *

There was a moment—an instant occurring upon the precipice of a second, impressing only the most nebulous sense of alarm—where Yukihira Sōma felt something shift inside his chest. He would later describe the feeling as a kaleidoscopic of puzzle pieces rearranging themselves from a picture he had come to know well, and instead limning something entirely different. Like when an ingredient—one that's been there all along, but that he'd never noticed before—suddenly arises in to play and the variants of its ingenious purposes suddenly become achievable. It was the conceptualizing of an entirely new dish; one around a secret element he had never before held, but once tasted could never be left out again. It was like the quest of mastering new. And Sōma knew he was in trouble.

All because of a girl.

She was standing at the chalkboard; her gold hair pulled up away from her face, thickly rimmed glasses sat upon the bridge her nose, and she was pointing at the various regions of Japan from where variant mushrooms are found. The Pole Star residents, sitting at the desks whilst she spoke, where furiously writing down notes to the point smoke steamed out from their pencils.

She was being harsh, yet gentle. Demanding, yet empathetic towards the amount of information being absorbed. It was a challenge to crunch in so much knowledge before time ran out, but she was determined.

And on that particular day, when the moment happened, Sōma had been late to Nakiri Erina's training camp, and he found himself leaning against the entrance to the classroom caught up in the inspiring vision of her teaching. Of her helping. Actually _caring_.

That was when it happened.

The sun came in and briefly scintillated against the gold locks of her hair, burnishing them to an almost molten yellow made of the purest sunlight he'd ever seen. Her eyes, when they landed on him, were soft. The striking violet made gentle by a thin glaze of sentiment that looked so much like tenderness towards her newfound friends. Sōma couldn't help but gulp, as though this observation unsettled him.

He hadn't even realized he'd been smiling until Erina called him out. Those eyes hardening once again.

"Yukihira Sōma, what are you doing standing there grinning like an idiot?" she demanded, slapping the chalkboard with a ruler, "You need this information too. Take a seat!"

"Um, yea! Sure," Sōma muttered, and quickly grabbed a chair next to Megumi, who looked at him with a typical concern born out of her inherit nurturing personality.

"Are you alright?" the blunette whispered while Erina continued on with her lecture, "You looked a bit lost for a moment there. Are you feeling sick?"

Sōma seemed to barely hear her. The only indication of his attention came from the slight nod of his head in Megumi's direction, but his eyes never left Erina. For some reason they couldn't.

After a minute, once the moment had passed— and suddenly the blurry vignette with which Sōma had been seeing the world disappeared—the red head came back to his senses and turned to Megumi.

"Yea, I'm good," he assured his friend, who looked thoroughly perplexed, "I think I just got dizzy for a moment, but I'm okay now."

This seemed to satisfy Megumi and she smiled. "Okay, good. You don't want to Miss Erina's training camp. She's been so wonderful to teach us!"

"Yea," Sōma repeated, not knowing really what else to say, "she really has."

* * *

From there on, the feeling came and went like an ever changing sea of waves, the height and strength of their crests varying upon the visions of certain occurrences. Some happened upon a flash of gold hair, wherein Sōma would just catch a glimpse of her disappearing around a corner or down the maze of corridors weaving through Pole Star, and it felt as though his heart would stop for all of a second, palpitating upon a shock he couldn't name nor predicate. It was endlessly frustrating. He hated it. And sometimes he'd get so mad at her for no reason, he'd begin to tease her incessantly, badgering her until they both left the room fuming.

"She is just impossible sometimes, ya know what I mean?" Sōma was muttering to Takumi once, during a respite from the heavy training they'd been under all day in preparation for their upcoming challenge against the Elite 10. "Like, everything I do gets on her nerves, and then that gets on _my_ nerves. And she's just so…demanding!"

Takumi listened and nodded, like the good friend he was, all the while half-smirking to himself. "She just wants us to win," said the Italian rather glibly with a shrug, "because she cares. If she didn't, she wouldn't be so hard on you—or any of us."

Sōma looked at Takumi incredulously. "Since when were _you_ on _her_ side?"

"Since she's been on ours," the blonde smiled, twirling a knife expertly between his fingers. "Now let's kickass tomorrow. Once all this is over, we might even see Nakiri Erina giving Yukihira Sōma a smile."

"Shut up," Sōma muttered, but couldn't help smirking at the thought. With a new fire ignited within his amber eyes, he picked up his chef's knife and grinned.

* * *

In case you were wondering, Erina did smile when Yukihira Sōma came out the victor against 1st Seat Eishi Tsukasa. She did more than smile actually; she wrapped her arms around him and he wrapped his around her. And for a moment, they looked at each other as though the stage had melted beneath their toes—their faces drawing closer because Sōma couldn't get enough of her smile; because that same shock he'd been feeling upon seeing her had amplified by a hundred volts; because she looked so beautiful right now in his embrace; because it looked like, for maybe just a second, that she actually liked being held by him; because he had done it, he had saved her.

It seemed like a dream until the rest of the regime jumped in to embrace them. And suddenly, both Erina and Sōma realized what they had almost done, and turned as red as pot over a fire. He kept watching her, looking for some sort of validation for what had _almost_ happened, to make sure he wasn't just seeing things, but within the crowd she simply stared at him and said nothing.

At some point she disappeared. And Sōma lost her in the throng of people, cheering and chanting his name.

But he didn't hear a sound.

* * *

 _Four months later…_

Ask Erina how she feels about Yukihira Sōma, and she'd probably say something like:

"He's a mediocre cook with no pedigree and a lifetime worth of luck. He's also the most infuriating person I've ever met; as dense as a wall of concrete; and has the attention span of a peanut—yes, I know peanuts don't have attention spans,"

At the end of all this, the beautiful queen would flip her hair and quietly add:

"But, yes, he is my friend."

By this time, they had taken down central...Sōma had played a critical part in the rebel's success, and even Erina had admitted it to him, thanking him—along with all of Pole Star, truly—for all they'd done to bring down Asami's reign. For their resilience and bravery. And most of all for their camaraderie, and for their friendships.

The day Erina watched her father walk away from Tōtsuki, had been the day she first felt sunlight; warm and flittering and serene, like the first touch of a long forgotten memory resurfacing from the recesses of an abyss. She had felt as though this auric glow had begun, on that day, to thaw the chains of ice so firmly frozen in place around her heart, keeping it imprisoned and still. On that day, she swore she felt her heart beat, for the first time, upon a will of her own.

Sometimes, at school, Erina would be walking towards her new friends, all waving and smiling or joking with one another, and she would have to pause. At times, looking at them was like looking at a picture limning the life she'd always wanted, not the one she actually had; and she'd doubt whether or not this new year was a dream. She almost half-expected there to be a penumbra of darkness waiting to invade the scene. As though she were waiting for the next bad thing to happen and was always so surprised when it didn't.

"Yo, Nakiri!"

Erina snapped out of her reverie, which today, had been interrupted by Yukihira Sōma. She felt him come up behind her, tapping her on one shoulder, while appearing at her other with an annoying grin.

"Tricked ya!" He rubbed his nose, looking amused by his own antics.

Erina stared at him, doing her best to harden her expression, but the stupor from which she'd just been released left her raw and vulnerable. Rather than a typical quip, the golden haired girl allowed an involuntary sigh to escape her lips.

"Hey?" Sōma's expression softened, and his amber eyes flashed with concern, "What's wrong?"

Erina felt her heart clench as a wave of uneasiness overtook her. Lately, Sōma had been acting strange towards her; acting like he actually _cared_ about her well-being. Ever since that one moment after...

She couldn't possibly explain this new uncertainty she felt—about her future, her life…the constancy of it all—would it always be like this from now on? Having her own decisions to make and friends to support her? Though she had been imprisoned by the influence of her father for so long, there had been a sense of security in the identity he had created for her. Nakiri Erina, heiress of the Nakiri Empire; God's Tongue; Elite Ten…now she was simply Erina in many ways. Part of her had disappeared with her father, whether she had wanted it to or not, but it was difficult to tell which piece of her was now missing. She suddenly felt very exposed.

"I'm just," Erina began, sucking in a sharp breath from the discomfort she felt beneath Sōma's attentive gaze. She wanted to tell him to leave her alone; to get over himself; that nothing could possibly be wrong with her. Everything was great. Her father was gone. She had friends. They were all second years…but still, to say she was fine would be lying. And Erina had begun to feel guilty lying to those she felt indebted to, including Sōma. "I'm just cold," she eventually finished, casting her violet eyes to the floor while the laughter of their friends echoed down the halls.

The bell rang, and their group began to dissipate with quick greetings and goodbyes thrown her way while they respectively made their way to class. Erina returned their smiles with a small, faltering one of her own, but made no move towards her 1st Period, patisserie class. Instead, she moved towards her locker and jumped with surprise to see Sōma still standing beside her, studying her expression as though he were looking at a recipe that dissatisfied him.

"What are you looking at, Yukihira?" Erina managed to snap, though her tone held less than a quarter of her usual venom. Internally, she despaired; wondering why Sōma was so insufferable at times; wondering what it was about him that she had begun to _fear_. Before, Erina had never feared anything or anyone but her father. And though that fear had been different—like terror provoked by a suffocating shadow obscuring her heart—this new fear still left her paralyzed and breathless. It felt like drowning. As though everything she had wanted to feel, but had first denied out of a need to survive, were flooding the walls of her heart at the possibility of their free expression, but the thought that something so personal should slip out of her grasp and fall in to the hands of that intolerable red-head, made Erina grow cold all over. She was unsure as to what terrified her more; being vulnerable, or disappointing expectations placed upon her. If Sōma knew how weak she actually was, would he look at her differently? If he knew how frightened she was, would he see her as a coward?

At some point, even Sōma realized the tense silence settling between them. His eyes widened ever so slightly, as though he had surprised himself for lingering. Erina watched him take a step back and run an anxious hand through his hair.

"I—uh, do you want my jacket?" Sōma began shrugging off his Yukihira Diner sweater, "You know how cold those classes can get, especially since they're cranking up the AC to keep it cool while we cook,"

He was rambling, but in that friendly and casual way that felt cool and detached, as though he could have been speaking to anyone; as though she was no different to him than anyone else.

"No, no, it's," Erina bit her lip and closed her eyes. She shook her head in a way to shrug off a new wave of disappointment and hardened her expression. "Keep your jacket, Yukihira. I—I'm just not feeling well. I'm going back home."

Sōma blinked. He'd been halfway done slipping out of his jacket, but now hesitated. Erina watched the vaguest hint of tense uncertainly flicker behind his gold eyes, as though something behind the casual and carefree façade was growing suddenly conflicted. He slipped off his sweater and threw it around her shoulders in one fluid, self-assured motion; his eyes now growing intense again with unsettling focus.

As the fabric settled itself upon her shoulders, the smell of dashi and salt and sesame oil came over her. An umami she attributed to Yukihira—though she would never be caught admitting that. Instinctively, however, Erina pulled the jacket closer to her with one hand; her books held against her chest with the other.

"Can I walk you back to Pole Star?" Sōma offered, a small crooked smile moving deftly across his lips.

Erina sighed, eyeing him suspiciously. "You're just trying to get out of class. It won't be an excused absence."

Sōma waved off her comment, shrugging. "I'll only be missing Artisan Bread, which is just…not my thing. You know me, I hate baking or anything with fixed ratios. It's so boring!"

"Just because it's boring doesn't mean you should disregard it," Erina said critically, "it's important to know _how_ to follow rules, even if you never abide by them yourself!"

Yukihira's smile grew. "Looks like you're feeling better already. It must be the jacket."

"It's not the jacket," Erina muttered quickly as her cheeks began to flush upon an involuntary warmth swelling up from her stomach, born from the attention of Sōma's smile. "I—I'm still going back…"

"Then I'll walk with ya," Yukihira fell in to step beside her as Erina began making her way out of Tōtsuki, "and it's not because I want to miss class…entirely. I just don't want you fainting or somethin' on the way back, you know?—Since you don't feel well, that is."

Erina wondered, incredulously, if Sōma's own cheeks had turned a lighter shade of red, or if it was just her imagination. But he looked away from her for a moment while mumbling something else about needing to get a textbook he'd forgotten in his room anyway.

They walked most of the way in silence; a cold breeze blowing through the autumn air, shaking the russet leaves from their branches, swirling them about the sidewalk. Erina shivered, now from actual cold as opposed to the mere discomfort she had felt earlier, and tucked the gold hair being blown across her face, behind her ear. For most of the walk, she kept her eyes on the sidewalk out of sheer stubbornness, unwilling to acknowledge Sōma more than she had to.

But as the wind picked up, blowing harder, Yukihira jumped in front of her and began walking backwards against the wind. His eyes glittering from an amused reaction clearly elicited by the surprise on her face.

"What are you doing now, Yukihira?" Erina glowered, wondering what he was up to.

"I'm blocking the wind for ya," he smiled, continuing his backwards pace, hands tucked in his pockets, red hair blowing all about his forehead. "If you're sick, the wind won't help you get better."

"I'm not sick, Yukihira," the golden haired girl rolled her eyes, "God, you're impossible…I'm not sick."

Sōma's face grew serious, the expression undercut with another wave of concern. It was as though Erina could see him trying to understand, and growing frustrated by his inability to read her. This satisfied her to some degree, pacifying her fears about appearing too vulnerable.

Soon, they began to near Pole Star. Sōma had turned to look over his shoulder to see how much farther he had to continue this backwards ambulation, when he tripped on an uneven crack on the floor.

Erina looked up just in time to watch him lose his balance. She dropped her books and reached out to him at the same time he reached for her. She yelped as his strong grip clasped her wrists, accidentally bringing her down with him when Sōma had meant to use her for stability. With a thud and a gasp, Nakiri Erina found herself on top of Yukihira; her gold hair falling over his face in a cascade of loose curls. Her hands, plastered to his chest, began pushing up against him, stopping suddenly at the sound of him groaning in pain.

"Sōma! Are you alright?" Erina waited for his eyes to open, stiffening as a shocking awareness of her current position grew. "Yukihira, you idiot! Are you hurt?"

Sōma groaned, muttering a muffled tone of surprise at the sound of his first name coming from her lips. He eventually opened his eyes and sucked in an audible breath.

Erina felt her cheeks flush a dark red at the sudden proximity of their faces, and the sensation of warmth—which she now realized were his hands—on her waist. "Sōma, you idiot," she repeated, breathlessly now; waiting. It was his move. She couldn't find it within her to push herself away now. Everything in her—her blood, her mind, her heart—was reeling from a sudden invasion of sentiment, now magnified by her inability to deny the emotions and push them away at the moment. Her eyes were glued to his, warm gold bearing in to a cold violet, thawing them with each passing second of time.

"I—Erina," Yukihira muttered, a new expression passing through him—something Erina had never seen, nor hardly recognized—as he lifted one hand to her temple, tucking away a strand of gold hair behind her ear, "I'm—I, uh—I'm sorry. I don't know what, um—,"

Without knowing what else to do—without the strength to stop herself now—Erina placed her lips upon his in a chaste and innocent kiss she gave to him purely out of instinct. She had no experience to offer, and didn't know what to expect upon the contact. In fact, she found the initial touch strange; foreign and uncomfortable and utterly exposing. Erina pulled away upon a renewed grip of fear born out of the sudden vulnerability created by the admission of her feelings, granted to him by such a seemingly simple gesture.

She was about to push herself off from Sōma's chest when she felt a hand snake behind her neck, pulling her back down in to him. His lips moved up to meet hers this time, deepening the contact, pushing her mouth open above his where he forced his way in to her. Erina moaned at the sudden aggressiveness ignited by Yukihira's heightened response. Instinctively, she felt herself refuse to let him dominate her and began fighting back for control. She pushed in to him while he continued pushing in to her, growing almost angry at her stubborn reaction.

All of a sudden, Sōma flipped them over so that he was now on top of her, pinning her to the sidewalk in an almost desperate attempt to subdue her. They were breathing hard; gasping on the floor, inches between each other. "Let me kiss you, Erina," Sōma growled, "stop fighting me!"

"I'm kissing you back, you idiot!" Erina objected, but was silenced again by Yukihira.

He pressed his lips, now gently over hers, working her mouth open slowly this time. "No," he muttered in between kisses, feeling Erina tense and push impatiently against him, "no, you're trying to take control again." He was finally able to slip his tongue in to her mouth a second time, forcing her accept his presence inside her, keeping himself there—demanding to leave a message—one assuring his place in her.

Erina shuddered then gave in. She allowed Sōma to continue, breathing him in, sighing…groaning with a conflicted frustration elicited by the fact she'd opened herself to him; vulnerable. This realization surfaced upon the silent swelling of tears, the rivulets trickling down in to her hair.

Sōma felt the moisture soak in to his skin at the fingers with which he cupped her face. Immediately he pulled away to look at her, but Erina averted her gaze off to the side. "Don't do that, look at me," he whispered, gently tilting her chin to face him, "did I do something? I—I thought you wanted me to—was it me?"

"Sōma," Erina breathed, her lips parting to released a pained scoff before fresh tears blossomed in to her eyes, "it's always been you, you idiot! You…I…you scare me…you've always scared me. I'm not…I'm so broken…and you scare me."

The admission was nothing more than whisper, treading the wind like a ghost seeking a palpable body in which to dwell and be hidden once again.

"Well, I'm not scared of you," Sōma's gold stare was hard and determined. He wiped her tears, "I have no idea what the hell we're doing. Or how the hell I came to… _feel_ …whatever it is I feel for you, but you don't scare me. I saved you, remember? I shouldn't scare you…I just want to keep saving you, Erina—if you'll let me? That's all I want to do. Just let me cook for you, and—I don't know—keeping winning for you—with you. I know you've always been capable of taking care of yourself and all, but…remember I saved you. Once."

Erina stared up at him, wordlessly. She watched him move back up to his feet, pulling her up with him. His hands let go of her while she continued to stand there, silently; biting her lip as the conflicting emotions battling against her began to wage their war over her heart.

All within a moment, Sōma looked confused and worried and anxious. He was waiting for her to do something.

It took a while, but Erina finally made a step towards him. She looked down at the floor again, embarrassed by her longing for this boy with the red hair and irritating grin. But the golden haired girl held out her arms to him, lifting them before her like an embrace she needed him to close.

She waited.

It was like screaming, "Take me!" at the top of her lungs. So humiliating and vulnerable. If giving up control was always this painful, Erina didn't know how long she'd be able to last.

"Sōma?" Erina felt her voice crack, blushing under his wide stare; his gold eyes glistening in their spheres.

Just as she thought he was about have second thoughts and walk away…He came to her. Erina gasped at the sudden sensation of Sōma's arms around her waist, lifting her up for one perfect moment in like a victory, before setting her down with an enormous grin on his face. He pressed his lips in to hers again, smiling, and would have continued to kiss he had they not needed to breathe.

"Sōma, wait," Erina breathed, holding him back from smothering her again, despite how infinite she felt with his mouth over hers. "Not in public, like this…not yet…"

Yukihira nodded, smiling smally before taking her hand and placing it over his heart. "But one day! One day I want the whole world to know that _the_ Nakiri Erina chose _me_! That I saved her!" he grinned.

Erina feigned a scoff in an attempt to hide her growing euphoria. "You're an idiot."

Sōma grinned, bringing her in to his chest once more, hiding her inside him; and for a moment, she knew she was safe from the world.


	2. Chapter 2

_So I decided to write a second chapter—and will write more—because I've grown rather curious as to what a relationship between Sōma and Erina would look liked in a fictitious imagining of their triumph over Central and Asami's leave_. _I'm interested as to how_ _they would grow as characters, and what a relationship between these very flawed people would look like...This is obviously a bit of a darker portrayal, as I delve in to the effects of Asami's abuse of Erina, and explore a growing egotism in Sōma. Of course, some things are dramatized...I'm sure other writers would agree with me in saying that it's very hard to write in the perspective of Yukihira, who is portrayed as a sort of paradox (i.e. confident without being arrogant; reckless without realistic concerns; dense without being blind to the areas he needs to improve in regards to cooking, etc.) He's a great character, don't get me wrong, but he's not always that believable...My portrayal of him is one that is going to explore a disposition he might develop should he—at some point—grow overly confident. He'll still be dense, but that density will be justified in a growing blindness founded on a developing ego and sense of entitlement that might come with a major victory over some of the best chefs in the world...an arrogance that may develop upon the saving and 'obtaining' of Erina Nakiri, the beautiful and talented and well-respected 'Queen' of Tōtsuki. Again, these are just my interpretations, and I understand if they do not align completely with the anime. Nonetheless, I hope you all enjoy. Thanks for all the reviews and favorites and follows. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this next chapter._

* * *

 **Shattering:**

 **Chapter 2**

* * *

"Shhh, Sōma—they'll hear us!" Erina covered Yukihira's lips with a small, cupped hand while he pressed in to her palm, grinning. She tried pushing him away half-consciously, craning her neck to peek through the sliver of light pouring in from the crack of the closet door. Meanwhile, Sōma had paused only a moment before slipping out from beneath her half-hearted touch, moving his lips on to her neck and her jaw, eliciting a moan and a glare to chorus upon a dissonance. "I'm serious. Someone is coming down the hall!"

"I don't really care," Sōma breathed in to her skin, raising the bumps on her flesh, and pressed closer in to her ear, knocking over a mop and the bucket in the process. "Why do you want to keep hiding this? It's been almost three months!"

"Please," Erina half-pleaded, half-growled, "I rarely ever say that word and you know it." Her heart jumped when she heard the voices of Ryōko, Yūki, and Megumi coming down the hall from their way out of the kitchen. At the same time, she saw Sōma about to protest and kissed him furiously to stamp his lips closed in a temporary silence. This seemed to work. It usually did; Erina had long learned by now that the only way to get Yukihira Sōma to stop talking was to either taste his food or kiss him senseless. In honesty, she didn't know which was her preferred method; both were enjoyable though she'd never admit this aloud.

 _Urgh, I'm so behind on homework!_ came the muffled voice of Yūki or Megumi. Erina wasn't sure. However, the comment was quickly chorused by varying intonations of agreement, that began to echo more distantly upon the sound of evaporating footsteps.

 _Sōma…who knows? He could be creating another dish for Nakiri…poor girl…he is relentless._

Erina heard them turn the corner, and relaxed her shoulders, vaguely aware that she still had her lips over Sōma's and was nearly out of breath. She pulled away from him, both of them gasping. She strained her ears for any other footfalls coming through the corridor, and hearing nothing began making her way out. "Now's our—,"

But when she tried to move, she felt Sōma calloused hand clamp down on her wrist, pulling her back in to him a little bit too roughly for her liking.

"What is _wrong_ with you today?" Erina's violet eyes flashed up at him in the dark, his own golden orbs luminesced by the thin stream of light now directly hitting his iris. He didn't look happy, she could tell that much, but what's worse was that a knot coiled itself around her stomach as the guilt began to clench across her conscious. "I—I'm sorry, Yukihira, b-but I'm not ready."

Erina looked down only to have her chin lifted back up. Sōma's expression had softened ever so slightly, but the scar on his brow still twitched with irritation as his forehead continued to crease. "Can't we at least tell our friends—here, at Pole Star? They'd keep it a secret, I promise. They can really keep their mouths shut when ya ask them. Remember? They didn't say anything about my dad, or your being here that first time when you were hiding, and—,"

"I know," Erina sighed, her hand now tightening around Sōma's diner shirt with a displaced anxious tension. "I know, they would. I just…I just don't want them to see me differently."

"What do you mean by that, Nakiri?" Sōma leaned his head against the wall, a frustrated groan breathing out of him, "Of course they won't see you differently! And so what if they did? Are you really that embarrassed to be with me?"

"No! That's not it."

That was partly it. However, Erina was not embarrassed that her affections were for Sōma, but rather that she held this type of affection at all. She still found it…shameless…the thought of kissing him, holding his hand, resting in his embrace...being _vulnerable_ to him in public horrified her. And Erina knew that, once their relationship came out of the shadows, Sōma would insist on all of those things wherever they went. He had no sense of reservation. When he felt something, he displayed it with ebullience, as though it never occurred to him to ever hide an emotion. This was the antithesis of Erina in every way. She always seemed to be trying desperately to keep her sentiments as close and unreadable as she could. Only then would no one be able to form any assumptions regarding an identity she continued desiring to control in order to meet expectations. In the end, it came down to how comfortable Erina was with being vulnerable…vulnerable with her friends, with society. She had read enough romances to know that loving someone in public was dangerous. It was revealing a part of yourself through the choice in whom you chose to adore, as that person in turn reflects a great deal about who you are, and Erina wasn't sure whether she was ready for the world to know who she was in Sōma. She wasn't ready for the world to know that she could be weak, unsteady, anxious, and scared. It had been one thing allowing Sōma to see these things…it was another to allow in the world. In addition to all of this, what if she and Yukihira went ahead and declared their relationship publicly, only to have it dissolve. Erina shivered at the thought. It would be devastating. Traumatic. Her heart would be broken and hanging limp out of her chest for all to see.

"Erina, hello? Earth to Erina?"

Nakiri Erina snapped back in to the present, wondering how or if she could even begin to explain her hesitations to Sōma. He was not always the most empathetic…he could sympathize, sure, and listen…but to have him truly _understand_ something complex emotion—well, it was impossible, frankly.

"Could you just…" Erina bit her lip, trying not to sigh nor groan nor agitate Sōma's patience any further, "let me think about it? I—I promise, I'll think about it—telling Pole Star, that is."

Yukihira looked at her suspiciously for some time, but eventually Erina felt his muscles relax beneath her fingertips. His face looked far from content, but he seemed to find a sliver of satisfaction from that answer, as his lips began to quip up in to a mischievous crooked smile. "You know, you can make this up to me by tasting another dish I've come up with—or half-conceptualized, rather—but it's pretty much a solid idea," he grinned, pulling her close in to his chest by the small of her back.

"Make what up to you? I told you I would think about it. I didn't say 'no,'" Erina glowered, pushing away from him in order to hide her excitement at tasting his food.

"Sure, that's great, but I wasn't talking about that. I was talking about you pushing me in to this closet and hurting…my neck! Yea, it's a little sore," Sōma's grin grew wider as he began to rub whatever area he claimed to be wounded with a theatrical grimace, "that and you took advantage of me. You forced me in to this closet, and took advantage."

Erina gaped, openly scandalized. "I did _no_ such thing! You were the one constantly trying to pin _me_ to the wall like some barbarian," she scowled, pushing against his chest with more resolve, but his hands kept her hips pinned to his waist. "See, _you_ are the one taking advantage of the situation!"

"Shhh," Sōma lifted a hand to the back of her neck, pulling her lips in to his. "You need to be quiet. They'll hear us," he whispered against her mouth, "I don't want anyone to know that I'm a slave to Nakiri Erina, else people might start feeling sorry for me."

Erina growled/groaned—maybe both—and pulled away. "That's not funny. I'm—," she was cut off by another kiss, and then another; "I'm not…it's not…you." She managed to say in between Sōma's assault, which was now leaving her dizzy.

"Prove it," he smiled, though a falter in the expression assured Erina of the underlying seriousness being conveyed. Before she knew it, Sōma pulled away from her, and slipped out of the closet, leaving Erina stunned and suddenly very cold.

* * *

Sōma was troubled.

In class, his eyes flickered everywhere; from the window, to the board, around the classroom (or kitchen, depending on the course). He couldn't concentrate. He couldn't think. He couldn't focus on anything; his mind too busy trying to wrap itself around why the _heck_ it was such a big deal to Erina should people find out about their relationship. He didn't get it.

 _Are you really that embarrassed to be with me..._

 _That's not it..._

But that had to be it, Sōma surmised, currently biting on the nib of his pencil, his brows furrowed in a perplexed agitation apparent upon his expression. It had to be. About what else could she possibly be nervous? He always knew that they weren't cut from the same cloth. For so long, he'd felt like some sort of ant looking up at this giant force untouchable from where he stood, but now...ever since the Regime and their taking down of Central, he'd felt the tables shift and level. Suddenly, as soon as he'd won that last battle—as soon as they'd all won the war—he and Erina were equals. And she had smiled at him. And she had wrapped her arms around him. In front of everyone, because he'd won. And he'd won for _her_. Why didn't she get that? He saved her, for crying out loud, didn't he? He'd done what her freaking grandfather had wanted—He saved her and now?

Well, she wasn't giving him any credit. It's like she's acting as though he were still that inferior chef from a downtown diner who needed her approval to be validated in his confidence. He was most certainly _not_ enslaved to her opinion of him—he never was—so why did she act like she owned him. Owned their relationship. And what gives her the right to decide whether or not she kept him a secret? He deserved to be known. And known as her equal.

"Sōma?"

Megumi's voice floated in to his conscious like a feather pressing against stone; faint and nearly imperceptible.

"Huh, what?" Sōma's eyes snapped awake. He jumped from a slouched position in his desk and glanced around, the entire class watching him as though in expectation. His gold eyes moved up towards the front of the room and he noticed Instructor Chapelle, staring at him, unsmiling, waiting for an answer to a question he had obviously asked while Sōma had been swimming in his subconscious.

"I expect you to pay more attention, Yukihira," said Chapelle, sternly, "if modern studies of French cuisine bores you, you can wait outside of my classroom and take a zero on the next exam."

Sōma promptly apologized, the classroom snickering, his eyes flashing across the floor in order to redirect a sudden wave of anger swelling from from his stomach. He tried to relax again, leaning back in his chair, folding his arms before his chest.

"Sōma are you okay?" Megumi asked him after class on their way to their lockers before lunch. Her large, blue eyes staring attentively at him, waiting patiently for a response.

Yukihira shrugged, reaching his locker, playing with the lock a few times before it clicked open. "I'm fine, why? Yea, I'm good—I dunno—maybe just tired."

He popped in a piece of gum and began chewing it violently, as though all of his frustration was currently the source from which his mandible released its energy. He couldn't help but feel slightly amused at Megumi's (suddenly irritating) intuition, though her perception was partly effective because she knew him so well.

"Do you...want to talk about it?"

He did. But he couldn't. He slammed his locker shut and leaned his back against the cold metal, throwing his head back in exasperation.

"I can't," he muttered, shaking his head of red hair, "I mean, I want to but I can't. It's not my problem."

"Well," Megumi looked at him, concerned, closing her locker gently, "it seems like it might be a little bit of your problem...I mean, because you just seem off. And you've been a little distant lately—but I understand, this semester has been—,"

"I—ahh—what do you do when someone it driving you crazy? I've never—" Soma rubbed a hand across his face. "You know me. I don't get annoyed, or upset, easily. I'm usually calm, relaxed; confident. I'm Yukihira Sōma—a beast in the kitchen, amazing under pressure—so tell me, _how_ do I stop someone from..." He clenched his fists in front of his face rather dramatically, scaring Megumi to the point of discomfort.

"Um, well, I," she began to stammer, taking a moment to compose herself at the sight of this 'new' and off-balanced Sōma, "is this person...someone you know well? A friend? A rival? Though I've never known you to get intimidated by competition before..."

"Yea," he scoffed almost arrogantly, "it's not anything like that. I'm pretty sure I can take anyone on at this school as this point."

Megumi looked at him, somewhat disconcerted. A while ago, Takumi had confided in her about a growing pride complex blooming within Yukihira lately, even since the fall of Central after winning against Tsukasa in the final duel. At first she had defended Sōma, claiming that he was just on the natural, and even understandable, high that comes from defeating a 1st seat legend. But lately, Megumi had begun feeling it too...this slight tendency towards arrogance as opposed to pure confidence, or feeling of entitlement towards some universal respect he expected from everyone, all because of a moment now in the past...a moment that was his victory, but had also been the victory of his friends. It had been a victory he didn't accomplish alone, and it was as though he were beginning to forget this.

"Okay then," Megumi sighed, shaking her head from all of these unpleasant thoughts. Maybe her judgment was being clouded from her own workload, though nebulously she knew it was a tendency of hers to justify Sōma's behavior as she was always hoping for the best for people. Especially Sōma. She looked up to him so much...long knowing that his heart belonged to someone else. You did not need eyes to feel the way in which Sōma pined for Erina's approval...whether he was aware or not of this tendency, Megumi didn't know...but she figured he'd probably deny it regardless.

Sōma glanced at her quickly from the corner of his eye, guiltily, as though he realized how rude he'd sounded just now. "Sorry, Megumi," he muttered, "I don't know what's gotten in to me."

Megumi looked at him; her eyes softening. "Well then," she said again, this time softer, a small smile forming on her lips. "Usually, when someone is driving you crazy, it just means you care about them a great deal, right? And usually, you just need to talk to that person you care about, and tell them how you feel, and if they care about you too, well, then maybe they'll try and stop driving you crazy," Megumi said, as though all the problems in the world were so simply put and answered. "But, people are driven crazy by things they can't control...so, there could be something you're trying to control in them...or get from them, that they don't want to give—or might not even be able to give—to you."

Sōma blinked. His gold eyes were fixed straight ahead, falling deep in to thought.

"Maybe I should talk to them," he said suddenly, snapping his fingers at the revelation, "I mean, it can't hurt...I'll just talk to them...again. I feel like I know what to say now, now that I've though about it."

"Uhm. Okay," Megumi sighed, wondering if Sōma had heard her at all. But then again, it wasn't in his nature to acknowledge advice that he may or may not have listened to. In fact, the only way Sōma seems to take any sort of advice nowadays is from Erina, during her taste tests. "Like I said. You must care about h—them—a lot for whatever this is to get you so...stressed."

This was the truest thing she'd said all morning, and its veracity would only solidify upon the end of the day.

* * *

"The Winter Festival," Sōma began, walking with Erina down the corridor of the quiet Pole Star evening whilst on their way to dinner. "Be my date to the Winter Festival, tomorrow."

He was grinning from ear to ear, confident in this plan as if he hadn't listened to a word she had said two days prior. Was she going crazy, or did Erina remember correctly when she recalled telling Sōma that she would think about telling Pole Star— _not_ the entire student body. Her violet eyes studied him carefully, as though waiting for the punch line to some joke he was attempting to convey.

As his eyes remained persistently hopeful, Erina stopped, folding her arms in front of her chest upon an increasing level of agitation. "Yukihira, are you an idiot or are you _trying_ to make me mad."

Sōma immediately went on the defensive, his amber eyes flashing with an anger Erina has never recalled seeing in him. She nearly gasped, watching him look up and down the hall before whispering vehemently at her. "Erina _stop_ being so selfish. Ya, okay, I remember what you said—that you'd think about it?—but I've been thinking too and _I_ think that you're being ridiculous!"

Erina's mouth hung open, pain straining beneath the rage swelling up in the form of tears. Something…she wasn't quite sure what...but something in those words had pierced her. Like a vision of her father violently demanding something from her; Asami's dark face twisting angrily at the barest hint of individuality displayed on her part. She was his—had been—she _had been_ her father's. She wasn't anymore. But why did she suddenly feel so oppressed? Why did Sōma need this so badly from her?

"Yukihira," she ground out, inhaling deeply so as the air would reach all the way to her bones. Oh how she was hurting. Was she really being ridiculous? Sōma was never one to be dramatic. If he felt this way, then maybe…she had never seen him so mad. "Sōma," she tried again, attempting to control the flaring temper so easily flitting from her hands, "I…I am trying to rebuild myself. Please try and understand—this has nothing to do with you. I am trying to learn who I am without my name. Without my father."

The slipping of these words felt like a humiliate loss of some kind. Like a tearing of her flesh that left her organs naked; blushing, weeping beneath a bright, golden gaze that seemed to soften ever so slightly. Sōma's hand came up to her cheek, his thumb wiping away her humiliation in a careful—but not gentle—stroke. He looked as though he were trying to understand or comprehend the gravity her words, attempting to connect them to the issue at hand. But, he was failing. Erina could see it. His eyes, though tempering and considerate, were not compassionate. There was a fog in them—a blindness growing there, placed by something formulating inside him—obscuring his ability to understand.

"You're amazing," he said, the words falling flat against her. They were like a reaching for air; an obvious sign of a disparity suddenly forming between them. As if sensing his mistake Sōma continued hastily, "You're Erina Nakiri; you haven't lost anything. And you'll always be Erina Nakiri—strong, independent, the God Tongue—no matter what other people say!"

Erina hesitated. Maybe Sōma was right, though she hasn't felt like that Erina for quite a while now. But maybe she was just being dramatic. That old Nakiri was probably still somewhere inside her, she just needed time to come back—if that was what he wanted. Either way, she couldn't possibly let anyone else see her like this, and the thought of being placed on a stage with Sōma was now more mortifying than ever.

"And what if I'm not always the Erina you know," she demanded suddenly, a burst of emotion heaving her chest up and down upon a breath that felt a lot like rage, but revealed itself more like an insecurity. "What if I change, Yukihira? What if I _am_ changed?"

Sōma only smiled, kissing her softly once before saying, "You'll always be the same to me."

Another blow. A changing person has changing needs, changing desires. You can't possibly treat a changing person the same way across a period of time, as if they were the person they were five years ago; an image frozen in time, seeing them the way you want to see them as opposed to the person they are becoming.

Erina's impatience with Sōma's insensitive density reached a breaking point. She pulled away from him fiercely, detaching herself in the old way, and with the flip of the hair she became the old Erina. It was what he wanted anyway, right?

"I'm not going to the Winter Festival with you, Yukihira, so drop it now," she practically sneered. "I told you I would think about telling our friends. Don't ask me for anything more than _that_."

Sōma's fists clenched at his sides. His red hair suddenly looking like an angry pile of flames burning around the golden center of a fire that was anchored to his eyes. "Look, if you're really that embarrassed by me—that worried about me compromising this new 'identity,' you're building—then why date me, anyway," he gritted, their eyes exploding out to each other as if caught in a battle of equal energy, each trying to overwhelm the other with their wrath. "Whatever. Think about it, don't think about—I don't really care anymore."

With that, he left. Erina watched him turn around and head down the hall, his hands smashed inside the pockets of his pants, without so much as another glance back at her. Unable to bear the thought being in the same room with him, the golden haired girl whirled on her heels back towards her room, where she locked the door and disappeared for the rest of the night within a salty sea compromised of silent weeps, and a shaking that stemmed from her core.

* * *

The next day, Erina awoke sore and depleted of energy to a gentle knock on he door. With a slight hiccup she ran over to the mirror nearby in a desperate attempt to put herself back together; fix hair, run fingers beneath the eyes to get rid of running mascara, adjust school uniform she didn't bother changing out of. She was in the middle of turning away from the mirror when she froze.

Something was missing. Something was off.

Erina stared back at herself, baffled. The world seemed dull today…the way it had been when her father was nearby…as though she were back in in one of her nightmares. She glanced hesitantly at the door, suddenly terrified. Her breathing came out like a gasp, uneven and faltering. Sweat formed in bulbous beads behind her neck. She stared at the still wood, now silent save of the slight shuffling of feet on the other side. She swore she heard the moment her heart stopped. Had an old sheen of ice reformed itself along the muscle overnight? What was making the world so grey?

Sōma…

The thought of him being at the door both relieved and terrified her. She couldn't give him what he wanted, but suddenly she found herself wanting to give it. She didn't want to lose him. She wondered if she loved him.

Another knock.

Erina took one step forward, her violet eyes shaking in their orbs. The grey cast sun piercing her like an enemy sword.

"Ehh, Nakiri?"

It was Hisako.

Suddenly the grey gossamer dulling everything in a grisaille palette, dissolved. The world resumed its natural color. Her heart began to pulse once again within her chest, though still heavy and pained; the anxiety attack now passed though not without leaving a slight impression to indicate its veracity.

"Come in," Erina sighed, suddenly exhausted, though she managed to unlock the door before collapsing in to a seated position on the bed.

Hisako entered, looking concerned. "It's almost twelve…"

Erina looked out the window, surprised to find the day so bright from beyond the frost on her window. She blinked as though the brightness discomforted her. "So it is."

"You never sleep in past eight," Hisako managed nervously, scratching her cheek with an obvious disquiet at finding Erina so disheveled. It had been a while since she'd found her dear companion like this…Erina had been doing so well ever since Asami's absence. Only a relapse here and there…and now. "Um, can I get you anything? Water? Food?"

"No, no. I—," Erina looked down, studying the floor boards with an uncharacteristic absent mindlessness that left her own senses wheeling from the need to reorganize themselves in to coherent production. She suddenly realized that the dorm was eerily quiet for a Saturday. "Where is everyone?"

Hisako sighed, welcoming the normalcy of such a question. "They all went to the festival. We came by earlier, but I guess you were still asleep. I offered to wait until you woke up, so as to ask if you wanted to come along."

The Winter Festival. Erina jumped out of her bed with a sudden desperation to get there as quickly as possible. "Oh, Hisako! Yes, I need to get there. I need to—," she stopped herself before saying: "to see Sōma." Instead, she looked at her friend, attempting her best reassured smile. "Help me get ready."

* * *

Sōma was still brooding by the time they reached the festivities. Caramel, butter, spun candy, and sugary dough being fried wafted about the air with a natural effervescence characteristic to such events; the scents traveling for miles in all directions, calling out to noses and watering mouths. Not even the promise of magnificent food seemed to change his current attitude. He was never much of an actor, and the Pole Star gang—along with the addition of the Aldini brothers—sensed the disturbance and steered clear. They'd all learned by now that sometimes, Sōma just needed to stay inside himself a while before coming out to join the rest of the world. Though they tolerated it with much uncomfortable shiftings and murmurings. It was unlike Sōma to brood over anything that wasn't food or a recipe he was trying to perfect. And seeing as these two things were not presently the cause of his disposition, the gang was left rather disquieted.

"He's, like, really freaking me out…" Yūki clung to Ryōko's arm while the walked beside Megumi through the particolored tents brimming to the tip of their stands with noodles spilling over the fryers or pots of boiling water. "Megumi, can you make him stop? I can't see the carnival past the weird dark energy hovering around him."

Megumi sighed, her hand over her heart as though it were aching, but she knew it wasn't up to her to make him feel better. She looked over at Takumi, who walked beside Sōma in with a characteristic reticent saunter, simply attempting to be a consistent presence who'd be there when Yukihira returned from the recesses of his mind. At some point, his blue eyes wandered over to Megumi, smiling smally in his taciturn way as though to reassure her; as though to say, "You're not alone. I'm taking care of him too."

The blunette sighed, smiling back at him and nodding a small thanks. She then relaxed and fell in to a semi-easy step with other two girls and Isshiki, who'd just returned with two cones of strawberry cotton candy.

The day was bright and sunny and beautiful, save for the cloud over Sōma's attitude. The shining snow left over from the night before, slowly melted and dripped down the flaps of the tents, wetting the concrete maze of paths pitter pattering with feet. Sōma kicked a stray block of snow, not yet melted near the edge of the path and grumbled to himself. At some point, he managed to look up from the floor and squint over out at the carnival. He was now walking behind the Pole Star gang, beside Takumi who ambled along quiet. They watched, Sōma rather absently, their friends board the rides, taste the food, and flow along with the general merriment.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

Sōma did not want to talk about Erina. Right now, thinking of her make him sick—not from anger, per say—rather a churning guilt swelled from his stomach making him nauseous. He shouldn't have lost his temper like that. He should be more patient with her. She did, after all, just lose a father no matter how much of a monster he was. He just wished he understood her reasoning for hiding him. It left him feeling invalidated, but he couldn't admit that. He hated that he needed some kind of justification…as if he hadn't won until she was his for _everyone_ to see. He didn't have the courage to see her last night after they fought. He stood outside her door for more than an hour, contemplating whether or not to go in…but ultimately, he had felt justified in his anger at the time, and right now he still felt the residual effects of that, though his resolve grew weaker. He needed to see her—he shouldn't have pressured her with the carnival, it was too soon.

"I think," Sōma began, turning to Takumi while they watched their friends ride the carousel at Megumi's request, though they were naturally being immature about it—Daigo and Shōji pushing Zenji around on his horse until his spectacles fell from his face. "I think I'm going to go back to Pole Star. I'm not feeling—,"

"Erina!" Yūki exclaimed with a wave, spotting the Nakiri just before being taken around the turn of the carousel. "We're so happy…you decided…to come," her voice appearing and disappearing as the ride took her around a second, third, and fourth time. The other two girls echoed similar sentiments.

Sōma whirled around and spotted Erina approaching their group, Hisako walking half a centimeter behind her out of habit. She was looking at him, but also past him. Sōma's heart clenched, squeezing the guilt in the muscle down in to the gurgling mixture already fixed in his stomach. He grimaced then quickly recovered, straightening himself in to a usual casual manner.

"Yo, Nakiri," he said playing at normalcy, though his voice faltered ever so slightly, provoking a quick flash from Takumi's perceptive stare.

Erina looked at him, her face resuming an odd, expressionless aspect, which befell her from time to time but very rarely in public. He wanted desperately to talk to her; to ask her what was wrong; to apologize…for rushing her, that is. That was all he could feel sorry for at the moment. Nonetheless, he was sorry and wanted her to know that.

Sōma gave up on his pretense and looked at her with concern, his back towards the others on the carousel.

Erina inhaled the icy air, as though in preparation, closing her eyes. When she reopened them, they looked pained and hurt, but determined. She gritted her teeth and began walking towards Sōma; casting her feet out before her as though they were leaden chains. Her violet eyes shook against his stare, and he started forward but stopped—unsure of her intentions. He could feel his gaze rendering in to confusion, and for the first time felt very self-conscious and aware of everyone's presence. He wanted to be alone with her. He wanted to know what she was thinking.

At last she came near to him, her eyes penetrating his but without intensity, without passion. The gaze was like one you give to someone you owe something to. Like a duty. They were fogged over with something placed before her will, as though her mind were in hiding behind a nebulous obligation to which she had bound herself.

Then, without a word, she reached up on to her toes and placed her cold lips over his.

* * *

A hushed silenced reverberated around them, as though a wind had blown everything to a halt. The carousel creaked and was over, though nobody seemed to be moving.

Erina felt as though she were watching the scene from somewhere in the clouds. Her actions were simply that—motions; an honoring of a request because he had asked something of her. And she owed him, right? He had saved her. This was the least she could do.

But part of her did it because she wanted him to see. She wanted him to know that she was still hollow, that the healing had scarcely begun and had even regressed to some degree. She thought that maybe if she kissed him, the way he asked her to—in front of everyone—he would see her inability to give this to him; not without it costing her something.

This wish was not granted.

Sōma was smiling beneath the kiss; a carnal, devastating smile that snapped Erina's heart in two—though she could not show it now. Everyone was watching now; she could not return to herself. Not yet.

He pulled away glowing, his eyes fierce and bright as though he had just _won_. When he brought her in to his arms, she didn't feel it. She was going numb from the realization of what had just happened. She wondered if she had ruined them both.

"Is this what you wanted?" Erina tried one more time; one more time to give Sōma a chance to realize that this was not her. If this was what he wanted, she couldn't give it to him. It was not her.

Sōma pulled away only to brush the golden strands of hair away from her face, stoic and still. A brilliant grin stretched across his frozen cheeks, and he kissed her again.

Pulling away a second time, her threw a possessive arm over her shoulder and began explaining to their friends how they were together now. Because he saved her. Because he had won.

* * *

 _Yes, there will be another chapter. We will see how Erina's broken identity attempts to repair itself by being the object of Sōma's victory as opposed to finding itself in who she is as a person, and the effects that has on their relationship. We'll also see how Sōma's growing egotism compromises Erina's recovery, facilitating a further blindness on his part and unwillingness to understand her deterioration. I know it's all a bit deep, but again, if we took these characters and brought them in to the real world—in a world where everyone is trying to come to terms with who they are in some way—I think these two things would be the detriment of the characters: a growing arrogance in Sōma, and a loss of identity in Erina. Sōma can't keep winning and growing stronger without getting a little cocky; and something needs to humble him—which we'll see what that is soon. And Erina can't just be free from her father's manipulation after however many years it was she was under him. (In this case, they're both about 16 I'd say). No matter how abusive he was, Asami defined Erina because he was always telling her who she had to be. Now, Erina is inadvertently allowing Sōma to do the same to her; and Sōma can't help it because he's losing an ability to empathize due to a growing ego..._

 _I guess, we'll see how this goes. R &R. _


End file.
